


The Four Lost Souls

by hujhax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, Hogwarts House Sorting, Hogwarts Houses, The Sorting Hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18316550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hujhax/pseuds/hujhax
Summary: During an IM chat about Hogwarts Houses, I wrote a quick scene where Dumbledore explains sorting to a new (and somewhat frustrated) student.  I figured it might be of general interest.





	The Four Lost Souls

"But I don't belong to any house!" he said petulantly. "I'm not good at *any* of this stuff."

They were passing by a balcony, Hartwell kicking a bit at the ground as he walked. Dumbledore paused there, the view of the grounds seeming to catch his eye. Hartwell stopped too.

"Oh, no, dear Mr. Fernsby," he said, almost to himself. "No, no, no." He looked back at Hartwell, as if called back from some memory of his own. "Dear boy, have you ever heard the legend of the four lost souls?"

"I guess I will," he said, hanging his head and taking a few steps to the balcony railing.

"It's an old story," he continued, his eyes flicking upward as if its text were floating there. "Once upon a time, after a long and full life, an old woman died. And she found herself in a place that lies beyond this life and whatever awaits after it. And what do you think she found there?"

Hartwell stared back blankly. "I have literally no way of knowing this."

Dumbledore chuckled gently and nodded. "It was a Sorting Hat. Now, this woman had been a soldier — a great, courageous pilot, and — "

Hartwell cut in: "She put on the hat, it said she was a Gryffindor, so she went to some kind of... death house... and..." Something in the way Dumbledore looked back at him made him slowly trail off.

"No," Dumbledore said, "She didn't wear the hat, nor was instructed to. The Hat merely told her she could hold on to one memory from her life, one thing to hold close in whatever would come next, one relic of who she had once been, and the rest would melt away."

"So she chose some awesome... plane thing?"

"She knew it instantly. She chose a night where she had sat by the bed of an old woman. She was on brutally bad terms with her, but the bedridden woman was cold, and frightened. She stayed there by her. She made sure that, when that frail soul died, she wasn't alone." Dumbledore's attention seemed to drift inward again, or somewhere into the past, but he resumed. "The Hat considered this act of loyalty for only a moment, and shouted, ‘Hufflepuff!', and so it was decided."

"Okay..." said Hartwell uncertainly.

"Another woman arrived at that interim place, someone who had created groups that traveled the world to cure miserable diseases — groups who had been loyal to each other, and to the towns they helped, for years and years."

"So, a Hufflepuff — "

"But her memory was from her hometown. When a dear friend fell ill, she knew, from her travels, the exact disease she'd contracted, and was the only one who knew how to keep her from dying. The Hat considered this, and shouted 'Ravenclaw.'"

"Yeah, okay, I get the idea."

"Patience, young Mr. Fernsby," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "The third was a brilliant researcher who had discovered strange new forms of mathematics — but she chose a memory that was something else entirely. She had enacted a clever scheme to ensure that a man who had hurt her badly would never hurt anyone else again. A clear Slytherin," he said with some satisfaction.

"And the last was a clever, ambitious, lawyer. She had used unimaginable cunning and resourcefulness to bring about justice against impossible odds." He stopped, took a breath, and continued. "But she chose a memory of telling her parents that she was in love." Birds tweeted in a nearby tree, then suddenly spooked and flew. "It was the bravest thing she had done."

"So she was a Gryffindor?"

He gave a silent nod. "And do you know what the oddest thing of it was?"

Hartwell shrugged.

"They were all muggles. Not a one had a wisp of magic in them. But what do you think they found, when they stepped away from the Sorting Hat and the fog parted?"

Hartwell blinked and waited.

"Rows upon rows of their housemates. People who had passed through these halls and beyond, people who were every bit the Gryffindor that the lawyer was, or every bit the Hufflepuff that the pilot had been. Each one found new friends she was meeting for the first time, cheering her and welcoming her."

"Yeah, well. You even think that's how death works?"

"It's a legend," he said, conceding the point, "None of it is real, but some of it rings true. Whatever may lie beyond this world, I don't think it's a Sorting Hat," he said, his voice a bit low and conspiratorial.

He continued. "But anywhere — within Hogwarts or in the world beyond — we can all find people who value what we love, and respect us for holding it dear. And you, young man, will find where you belong, because everyone belongs somewhere. Some of us just..." he paused a moment to find the words, "haven't yet come home."


End file.
